Author: Isabelle Adler
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: November 25, 2019
Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 72000
Genre: Fantasy, LGBT, fantasy, nobility, arranged marriage, abduction, enemies to lovers, witches, magic users, action/adventure, family drama, pansexual
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Synopsis
Derek never
wished to inherit his title as a result of a bloody battle. With the old count
dead and the truce dependent on his marriage to the rival duke’s son, Derek has
no choice but to agree to the victor’s terms in order to bring peace to his
homeland. When he learns of the sinister rumors surrounding his intended groom,
Derek begins to have doubts—but there can be no turning back from saying I do.
After the
death of his wife, Callan of Mulberny never expected to be forced into another
political marriage—especially not to someone like the new Count of Camria.
Seemingly soft and meek, it’s only fitting that Derek’s family crest is a
flighty sparrow, worthy of nothing but contempt.
Another war
with the seafaring people of the Outer Isles looms on the horizon, and the
reluctant newlyweds must team together to protect those caught in the circle of
violence. Derek and Callan slowly learn to let go of their prejudices, but as
they find themselves enmeshed in intrigue fueled by dark secrets and revenge,
their tentative bond is all that keeps their world—and their lives—from
plunging into chaos.
Excerpt
The Wolf and
the Sparrow
Isabelle Adler
© 2019
All Rights
Reserved
“Derek, you
lucky devil,” Macon said. “A marriage proposal the minute you inherit a title.
How propitious.”
Derek ignored
the note of bitter mockery in his brother’s voice. Instead, he focused on the
letter lying on the table in front of them. Words were scribbled across thick
paper in an almost careless hand, with nothing to indicate its earth-shattering
contents at a casual glance. The red wax seal bore the emblem of a wolf’s head,
and an unpleasant jolt went through him as he recalled the same sigil splashed
over black-and-silver banners streaming above a bloody battlefield. Pain flared
in his injured shoulder, as if in response to the memory, and Derek shifted
uncomfortably in his chair, adjusting the sling that held his left arm. He made
himself focus on the words again, tracing them as if they could somehow
magically rearrange themselves into a different message upon rereading.
“Macon, this
is not helping,” Lady Casea chided.
Macon threw
their mother a sullen look that clearly indicated he wasn’t there to help. He
was sixteen, the age when everything was painted black and white, right and
wrong, with nothing in between. Both Derek and their mother knew all too well
how washed-out those colors became with time.
They were all
sitting at the round table in Lady Casea’s drawing room. The upheaval of the
last few days hadn’t seemed to reach it, unlike the rest of the keep.
Embroidered tapestries lined the walls, displaying flowers in fanciful
patterns, and the chairs were lined with soft cushions. A familiar scent of
lavender and sage permeated the warmth from the fireplace. How strange it was
to discuss the grim future of their family in this cozy room, with the only
reminder of the presence of death in the gray mourning ribbons tied around
their sleeves.
“Let us go
through this again,” Ivo said, picking up the letter. His tone was neutral, as
if he were discussing a passage from a recently read book. He was the scholar
among Derek’s siblings, but Count Johan had long refused to send him to one of
the royal colleges in Oifel, the capital. Father hadn’t approved of
bookishness, especially not in a nineteen-year-old man who was perfectly
capable of holding a sword.
“Duke Bergen
offers Lady Casea condolences on the passing of her husband, and asks for
Derek’s—the new Count of Camria’s—hand in marriage to his eldest son and heir,
Callan, ‘to secure the recently signed truce in hopes of reaching a standing
peace treaty between our fiefdoms and show goodwill.’”
“‘Passing,’”
Macon sneered. “‘Goodwill.’”
“Derek, have
you even met Callan?” Ayleen asked, turning to him. “I had no idea he was
interested in you.”
“I doubt he’d
know me from a signpost,” Derek said dryly.
He’d only ever
seen Callan in passing while visiting the Royal Palace a few years ago, and
they had paid each other little heed. Undoubtedly, Callan had been in the field
along with his father, Duke Bergen, when they fought Camria’s forces, but
fortunately, Derek hadn’t encountered them directly, and neither of them had
been present during the signing of the truce, delegating it instead to their
field commander.
Ayleen was
only twelve, and still somewhat charmed by the notion of romance. Derek was a
little sorry to disillusion her, especially so soon after all the other shocks
she’d had to endure in the past few days, but it was better if she knew exactly
what was going on. Ignorance and pretense weren’t going to help any of them
when their situation was so precarious.
“The proposal
isn’t coming from Lord Callan, but from his father. There’s nothing to it but
politics.”
Ivo looked up.
“I fear Bergen’s essentially trying to annex us. Derek would keep the title
while he lives, but with him being a lower noble, it’d eventually pass to his
husband or to their heirs. Not to mention that his spouse—whoever they
are—would be an equal ruler of Camria while Derek lives.”
While he
lives. The words sank into Derek’s mind, laden with meaning. The marriage
contract would still be valid, even if he were to die, effectively passing the
fiefdom of Camria to the duke’s family. And with Derek out of the way, they’d
be free to do what they wished with it.
He said nothing
aloud.
“Can we
possibly refuse? Find some pretext to decline the offer?” their mother asked.
Ivo shook his
head. “I cannot see how. This is not exactly an offer. More like an order, if
courteously worded. The letter continues on to stipulate that the wedding take
place as soon as possible. In fact, as soon as it would take Derek to arrive at
the duke’s ancestral castle at Irthorg.”
“What about
postponing it, then?” Lady Casea turned to Derek in concern. “You’re badly
injured. Surely, they cannot expect you to stand at the altar, still bleeding.
At least a few months, until you’re well. It will give us time to petition
before the High Queen. This is nothing short of coercion under duress.”
There were
fading bruises on her neck peeking above the collar of her dress, a yellow
imprint of fingers that had nothing to do with the recent battle. Not for the
first time, Derek thought that perhaps their father’s death was more of a
blessing than a tragedy. It felt treasonous to entertain such notions, as though
he was betraying his father’s memory, but he hadn’t imagined the relief in his
mother’s eyes when the messenger delivered the awful news. He was ashamed to
admit, even to himself, that he’d felt the same relief.
But it also
meant he was now the head of the family. It was his duty and his responsibility
to protect them after Count Johan had failed to do so. Even if it meant
marrying a man he’d never met, who’d nearly destroyed everything he held dear,
who might still want him dead.
“I’m not hurt
that badly,” Derek heard himself say. “Besides, I hardly think they’d care—or
if the Queen would see it quite the same way. The truce expires in a week. If I
don’t give an answer by then, I’m afraid there will be no long-standing
treaty.”
Casea frowned
and was about to say something else, but Derek forestalled her.
“I don’t see
any solution other than conforming to Duke Bergen’s wishes. I’d rather not
aggravate him while his troops still have free rein within our borders. There
would still be an opportunity to do something when we’re not in such dire
disadvantage. A marriage can always be annulled should the Queen prove
sympathetic to our case.”
“So, we just
roll over and give the duke our land?” Macon said. “That’s what he’s really
after, isn’t it? He basically threatens us with another war, and he has the
audacity to call it a gesture of goodwill!”
“It is
goodwill,” Derek said quietly. “He doesn’t need this union to take the land
away from us. In fact, nothing is stopping him from storming the keep and killing
us all when the truce ends. It would be his right to do so since he was
provoked, and frankly, we’ve already seen that Camria cannot hold its own when
it comes to military strength.”
As a warrior
himself, Derek was loath to admit it. But Camria was a small fiefdom, and its
contingent consisted of the Count’s Guard, which numbered only two hundred men,
while the rest were mostly peasants who had been hastily called to arms and had
little to no fighting experience. That was hardly a match for Mulberny, a much
larger and more prosperous domain with a long and bloody history of fending
raiding sea pirates off its shores. But of course, these considerations had
meant little to his father in the face of a perceived slight.
“You seem very
eager to go through with it,” Macon sneered. His eyes were rimmed in red and
recessed in deep shadows. “Can’t wait to become the bed toy of our father’s
murderer?”
“Macon!” Casea
said sharply. “Watch your tongue.”
“I will not!”
Macon slammed his hand against the table, making everyone save Derek jump.
“He’s only trying to save his own hide while his new husband turns us out of
our own home!”
“Will you stop
that?” Derek said levelly, fixing his gaze on Macon. He kept a tight rein on
his anger. There was no point in getting into a shouting match with his
brother, whose grief was perhaps the most acute of all of them. “No one said
anything about turning you out. I’m trying to keep all of you safe, and it
would be much easier to do from within the duke’s castle than from the chopping
block.”
“Yes, much
easier for you! You’d be the duke’s lapdog while the rest of us are reduced to
beggars!”
Derek’s
patience, already frayed, finally snapped.
“Maybe Father
should have thought about that before he waged war on Bergen over a fucking
river dam and got himself killed!”
Macon rose to
his feet so abruptly he knocked over his chair. Without another word, he
stormed out of the room, slamming the door with enough force to rattle the
flower vase on the side table.
There was an
awkward silence while everybody avoided looking at one another.
Derek sighed
and ran a jerky hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Lady Casea got
up from her seat. “I’ve had quite enough of this squabbling. There are still
soldiers’ wages and widows’ allowances to be distributed, and I have work to
do. Ayleen, come.”
With an
apologetic glance at Derek, Ayleen followed Casea out the door.
Derek slumped
on the table, propping his head with his right arm. He wasn’t used to being in
his mother’s rooms without her there; however, he was in no hurry to leave.
They were all tired, hurt, and confused. Derek had barely slept since signing
the temporary truce between Camria and Mulberny. The nagging ache in his
shoulder had worsened, and now his head was throbbing as well. But he welcomed
the pain. It was the only thing keeping him from numbness—and he couldn’t
afford to sink into it at the moment.
This was not
how he’d imagined coming into his inheritance. Shouldering responsibility was
not unfamiliar to him. His father had been more than happy to let Derek handle
the more mundane affairs of daily life in the keep and the surrounding
villages—though Derek sometimes thought it was so he’d have someone to
criticize. But this…this was almost too much to take on. He was good with a
sword and possessed sound common sense, which was perhaps enough for a minor
ruler of a small fiefdom, but now he had to admit he was in over his head.
Despite trying to present a solid front to his family, he had no idea what to
do to prevent more harm coming to them.
Ivo coughed
delicately, drawing his attention.
“I didn’t want
to say anything in front of Mother, but there is something you should know
before you make a decision.”
Derek raised
his head. He didn’t like the sound of that, but what could possibly make this
entire affair worse than it already was?
“What is it?”
“Did you know
that Lord Callan was married before?”
“No.” Derek
straightened in his chair. He didn’t like the look on Ivo’s face, the one that
said he was troubled. It was a bad sign. Unlike Macon, Ivo was rarely visibly
upset over anything.
“Well, he was.
To an Agiennan clanswoman, no less. I don’t recall her name, but it was about
two years ago. Apparently, the duke has a thing for offering his son in
marriage to secure his peace treaties.”
“What happened
to her?” Derek asked, already knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer.
“She died.
Some sort of accident, but…there were whispers about something not being quite
right with that story.”
“And you know
all of this how?”
Ivo smiled
faintly.
“Unlike you,
dear brother, I pay attention to rumors. Most of them are nothing more than
idle gossip, but some contain a kernel of truth.”
“All this
might be just that—nothing more than gossip,” Derek said.
“I’m
absolutely certain he was married,” Ivo repeated. “Accidents do happen even to
the most lofty, but you’d better be careful. Some people have an unfortunate
tendency to bury their spouses all too often.”
“What are you
saying?”
“You should
consider why Callan wants to marry you—or why his father wants him to. Camria
is a well-off fiefdom, but it’s hardly of much strategic importance. The duke’s
heir could set his eyes on a much more advantageous match, striking a union
with a foreign noble, or even marrying into the royal family. Your nuptials
could be nothing more than a stepping stone for whatever larger scheme he
envisions.”
“He can’t
subjugate Camria based on a marriage contract alone, not until Callan and I
either name or produce heirs. The law is clear—if something should happen to
me, the fiefdom would pass to my next-of-blood kin. To you.”
“I am not yet
of age to inherit. Your husband could be legally appointed regent, and if that
is what they’re after, they don’t need you for any longer than your wedding
night.” Ivo shrugged. “Once you say your vows and the marriage is consummated,
he could contest the inheritance of your fiefdom at the Queen’s Court if you
happen to die under tragic circumstances. And then Callan is once again free to
take another spouse. Maybe someone more lucrative.”
It appeared
Derek had not been the only one to have thought of that, but again, Ivo had
always been the smartest of his siblings, and the most astute, despite his age.
“You make him
sound like some sort of fairy-tale villain,” Derek protested, out of some
stubborn determination to refuse to be intimidated, whether by Ivo or by his
own apprehension.
But he couldn’t
help feeling there was something odd about the proposal. It seemed entirely
extraneous. Whatever treaty Bergen wanted to sign would have been achieved
without a marriage contract to strengthen it, given that Camria was at a dire
disadvantage. And Derek entertained no illusions about being so desirable a
match as to be of particular interest to the other party. Moreover, while
arranged marriages were par for the course among the aristocracy, nobles of
similar rank (in this case a newly minted count and the heir apparent of a
duchy) did not usually enter such unions for precisely the same considerations
of seniority of inheritance Ivo had voiced earlier. If this was all about
upholding the peace, it would have been much more reasonable for Duke Bergen to
ask for Ivo’s hand in future marriage for his son, as he was the only one of
Derek’s younger siblings close enough to the age of maturity.
“I’m saying
that by agreeing to accept this proposal you might be placing yourself in
danger,” Ivo said.
“And if I don’t,
I’ll be risking all our lives,” Derek said sourly. “Macon might not understand
it, and Mother might not accept it, but you do. Bergen is blackmailing me with
this treaty. I have no choice but to agree to his terms.”
“I do
understand. I just don’t want you to step blindly into a trap.”
Derek reached
out with his good hand and squeezed Ivo’s arm.
“I know, and
I’m grateful for your concern. But there’s nothing to it. Our best hope would
be for me to marry this Callan and bide my time until we figure out how to
convince the Queen to issue an annulment.”
“Unless you
end up falling in love with your arranged husband,” Ivo said with a wry smile.
“You know,”
Derek said, getting up with effort, “I think there’s a better chance of him
murdering me in my sleep.”
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Meet the Author
A voracious reader from the age of five, Isabelle Adler has always dreamed of one day putting her own stories into writing. She loves traveling, art, and science, and finds inspiration in all of these. Her favorite genres include sci-fi, fantasy, and historical adventure. She also firmly believes in the unlimited powers of imagination and caffeine.Website | Twitter
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